


one single thread of gold (tied me to you)

by flashlightinacave, magnetichearts



Series: in any version of reality, i'd find you and i'd choose you [4]
Category: Never Have I Ever (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Banter, Bickering, Bonding, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Canon, Romantic Tension, a n y w a y s lots of tension because PINING is the SHIT, also all the tension, and also it's stupidly long and no we do not know how this happened, cause we know bhargavi is a whore for tension so she was like 'let me write a whole fic about it', certifiably insane because both of us are, consider it a failure on our part tbh we know we wanted to a trillion times, enjoy it lmao we certainly had a blast writing it, if you don't slam your forehead against something because of how DUMB these two are, leila is also drowning in uni work fyi, we just outline and then write and go ham with the details, while drowning in uni work, you don't get much more romcom than this folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashlightinacave/pseuds/flashlightinacave, https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetichearts/pseuds/magnetichearts
Summary: He presses a hand between her shoulder blades, gripping her suffocatingly tight, so tight, she finds it hard to breathe, but Devi decides here and now she’d rather be here, in Ben’s arms, than anywhere else.(it’s not the first time she’s chosen him over breathing. not the first time he has literally taken her breath away)His hand moves from pressed between her shoulder blades to cradle her head, weaving through her hair, pressing her even closer to him, tucking her face securely into his neck.In his arms, she feels safe, and secure, and protected, and pressed this close to him, she can feel the beat of his heart, steady, strong, sure, and in tandem with her own. She doesn’t want to let him go, doesn’t want him to let her go.or; five times after malibu ben and devi almost kissed, and the one time they did(title from "invisible string" by taylor swift)
Relationships: Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar
Series: in any version of reality, i'd find you and i'd choose you [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010919
Comments: 10
Kudos: 92





	one single thread of gold (tied me to you)

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys! ok, so we decided writing fics together was a great way for us to keep writing during uni and not completely stress ourselves out, since it's both double the fun, and half the work, so be prepared to see more from both of us soon lol. 
> 
> uhhh this is like. lowkey just a 5+1 fic cause we love them, so much, and whatever happened with the length happened. it's just got a lot of tension and pining because that stuff is just The Best™️ and we know you agree!
> 
> anyways we hope you enjoy! it was a lot of fun to write, even tho we were like "oh my god just kiss already" even tho we were also writing the fic sooooooo in conclusion. we played ourselves sadlkjfhfdaskjhf
> 
> ok, enjoy!

Ben shows up at her house three days after Malibu.

She means to go pick up her stuff before then, really she does, but things have been more overwhelming and busy than usual.

She’s been trying really hard to build a better relationship with her mother—and she knows her mom is trying hard too—and even harder to repair her friendship with Eleanor and Fabiola.

And when she’d moved in with Ben, she hadn’t taken a large amount of stuff, so she’s managing just fine without it. Retrieving her belongings just makes its way to the bottom of Devi’s priority list for the time being.

So, when the doorbell rings Monday after school, she has different expectations. Expectations of Eleanor singing show tunes at the top of her lungs, expectations of Fabiola holding Gears Brosnan, expectations of Paxton.

Nowhere in those expectations does she factor in Ben Gross—staring at her like she’s got three heads like Cerberus—looking more anxious than she’s ever seen him.

Devi sucks in a deep breath, feeling like she’s been punched in the gut. 

(malibu, malibu, malibu.)

He doesn’t even greet her, just shoves something into her hands. “H—here!”

He pushes it at her so fast, she barely catches it, and it nearly punches her in the chest. “Ooof—hi!” she stammers out, grappling at whatever’s in her hands. 

Only then does Devi notice what he’s just handed her—her duffle bag—and she places it down on the floor next to her. She’s not wearing a watch, nor is she anywhere near a clock, but she’s certain she can hear the tick of each second as it passes.

She blinks a few times, mouth dropping agape, completely taken aback by how sweet and considerate he is.

(she comes to the realization ben lingers like honey does, the sweet, warm aftertaste of every single season, sharp and faint. he’s impossibly sweet, so much so it makes her heart race in her chest. sweet is not a word she would have ever used to describe ben gross before, but now, it’s the only word she thinks is apt)

Ben is sweet in the way citrus is, sugar hidden beneath a sharper bite, and she hopes, she hopes, she hopes, that he is sweet like this to her forever.

Ben laughs nervously, breaking her out of her thoughts. “I just—I saw your stuff and I thought you might—need it or something.” He takes a shaky, shuddery deep breath, and it trembles like the way she thinks monuments do during an earthquake. “Sorry, I don’t even know why I came and—”

Devi doesn’t even let him finish his sentence—whatever stream of random words are coming out of his mouth—before she cuts him off by wrapping her arms around him.

She hears his breath catch and, for some reason, that makes her clutch him tighter, burying her nose in his neck, taking a moment to just breathe.

For a few seconds, she regrets it—he’s stiff beneath her, his arms hanging limply at his sides—thinking to herself that a “thank you” would have sufficed, but those worries are for naught, for an instant later, his arms are coming around her and he’s hugging her back. He buries his nose in the crook of her neck, his lips brushing the skin there, and her heart jumps, leaping up her chest cavity.

Devi is suddenly reminded of physics, of the photoelectric effect, of a photon striking a metal surface and exciting an electron. Ben’s lips brushing against her skin are just like that, a photon striking her, a powerful surge of energy that excites, electrifies her to her very core.

He presses a hand between her shoulder blades, gripping her suffocatingly tight, so tight, she finds it hard to breathe, but Devi decides here and now she’d rather be here, in Ben’s arms, than anywhere else.

(it’s not the first time she’s chosen him over breathing. not the first time he has literally taken her breath away)

His hand moves from pressed between her shoulder blades to cradle her head, weaving through her hair, pressing her even closer to him, tucking her face securely into his neck.

In his arms, she feels safe, and secure, and protected, and pressed this close to him, she can feel the beat of his heart, steady, strong, sure, and in tandem with her own. She doesn’t want to let him go, doesn’t want him to let  _ her _ go.

(wait, what?)

Startled by her thoughts, Devi reluctantly draws back. “Thanks,” she says, gesturing towards the duffle bag resting at her feet.

She watches his throat bob as he swallows. “You’re welcome.”

She only then realizes that Ben’s hands are still resting on her waist, and she knows he notices too, as she watches his eyes widen, and his hands fall away, hanging once more limply at his sides.

(she’s not sure if it’s because he was just holding her, or if it’s that he’s no longer holding her, but her skin feels like it’s on fire, a burning, scorching, relentless heat)

She can’t seem to stop staring and she can tell Ben catches on too, and his timid expression morphs into a familiar smirk. “Distracted by my good looks, David?”

Normally, she’d snark back with something witty, but now, Devi can’t even dignify that with a response, she just keeps staring, finds herself drowning in the whirlpool of his blue, blue, blue, impossibly blue eyes.

In nature, blue is a color of extremes, representing both frigidly cold ice and brilliantly hot stars, and Ben—with eyes bluer than the Pacific Ocean, that hold more depth than the Mariana Trench—is the same thing: an extreme force in her life. He was her greatest rival, her adversary, her nemesis, someone subject to her extreme hatred, discontent, anger, aggression. He was someone she could always put in a box and define. But now, he’s shifted into something else, an equally extreme opposite. He’s become entirely unpredictable, someone she can no longer categorize, made her feel something cannot label.

(and how fucking scary is  _ that?) _

Ben’s voice once again pulls her out of her thoughts. “Uh, are you okay?”

Devi shakes her head to clear her thoughts. “Yeah! I’m all good.”

Ben tilts his head, seeming unconvinced, studying her with scrutiny, precision, the way an astronomer does a celestial object through a telescope. He runs a hand through his hair. “So… how did things go with Eleanor and Fabiola?”

Devi smiles, feeling the tension between them ebb away at those words. “They went well.” She clasps her hands together behind her back. “Thank you for bringing them to me, for convincing them to talk to me.”

(she would,  _ should _ , thank him for malibu, but she doesn’t think she can, not now)

Ben nods, a small, tentative smile spreading across his face. “Of course. Always.”

Devi quirks an eyebrow. “Always?” She knows his words carry a lot of weight, a lot of meaning. 

(too much)

Ben doesn’t say anything, his cheeks tinting slightly pink. He seems uncharacteristically anxious, and Devi doesn’t like it one bit. Desperate to diffuse the tension, she playfully punches him in the arm. “Are you going soft, Gross?”

He laughs then, bright and clear, and rubs his arm, nerves evaporating instantly. “I wouldn’t dream of it, David.”

Devi smirks. “That’s fair, you were always soft.”

“I am not soft,” Ben protests, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Ben,” Devi says, patting his shoulder condescendingly. “You cried at Monster’s Inc.”

“There’s a found family, David! Who doesn’t cry at a found family?”

Her smirk blooms even wider. “It’s a kid’s film.”

“It’s emotional!” Ben protests. “Quite frankly, the fact that you didn’t cry implies that you lack empathy.”

“No, it implies I can control my emotional responses.”

“Like your anger? Yeah, you do an amazing job controlling that,” he drawls, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Devi punches him in the arm, harder this time. “Shut up.”

“You’re just proving my point.”

Devi cocks her head. “I can’t be proving your point because I’m always right.” 

“No, I’m always right, David.” His tone shifts from indignant to earnest. “I’ve never lied to you.”

Devi feels her breath catch and her voice comes out quiet, like a small child. “Never?” 

“No.” Ben says, shaking his head. “Never.”

She clears her throat, swallowing an asteroid sized lump, and fiddles with her clasped hands. “So, you—uh—really meant what you said earlier?”

Ben frowns at her. “What I said?”

“Always,” Devi repeats, taking a step forward, almost involuntarily, like he’s a black hole, she’s an orbiting celestial body, and his gravitational pull is sucking her in. “Do you, you know, really mean that?”

Ben clears his throat, and she thinks it might be to tease her or snark at her, brush off her question as insignificant, unimportant. Instead, he’s perfectly genuine. “Of course.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t think you even have to ask that, Devi.”

Devi lets her eyes drift to his lips— 

(malibu, malibu, malibu. ben’s mouth on hers.)

She’d never thought about it before, what it would be like to kiss Ben. but now, it’s the only thing she can think about. Malibu plays in her mind like a broken record, and she thinks the only way to get out it is by kissing him again. To ensure that his lips are as soft as she thinks, as she remembers.

Devi is a scientist, and she knows one data point isn’t nearly enough to draw a conclusion, let alone test a hypothesis or form a theory.

—and she leans in.

She reaches up a trembling hand to cup his cheek, lets her eyes flicker shut, and she’s so so close she can feel his breath ghosting her lips, his hand reaching for her hair and then—

And then her phone goes off.

Devi flinches back, almost violently, her hand falling slack at her side. She gapes at Ben—who looks equally shocked—and blinks over and over again, while her phone continues to ring in her pocket. His eyes on her are fireworks, both in color and intensity.

Ben clears his throat, knocking her out of her trance. “Are you going to get that?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah.” Devi pulls her phone out of her pocket.

A familiar name flashes across the screen.

_ Paxton. _

Ben steps away from her with the same force she pulled away from him only seconds before. He looks nervous and jittery once more, with something darker lingering in his expression, a sharper, more poignant pain she can’t decipher. “I’ll—uh—I’ll see you tomorrow at school,” he says, turning on his heel.

Devi considers calling after him, but he’s long gone before she can even get the words out.

* * *

In the moments when they fall silent, Devi wonders how they got here. 

She and Ben, laughing. Like  _ friends. _

But the strangest thing about it, she thinks, is how it isn’t strange, at all. Falling into friendship with Ben had been like falling into her bed after a long and tiring day: easy, instinctual, almost natural and habitual. Something she had always been wanting to do. 

Right now, they’re cutting through the park on their way back from the library, and Devi cannot stop laughing. 

Who knew Ben was  _ funny? _

“And then,” he pouts, dramatically waving his hands around, “and then Mrs. Paloma said that my chemistry joke wasn’t funny.” 

“Ben,” Devi snorts. “Chemistry jokes aren’t funny.” 

“Oh, come on, Devi,” Ben says, scowling at her. He crosses his arms and comes to a stop in the middle of the park, staring at her. “You know my jokes are funny.” 

Devi rolls her eyes, biting back a smile. “They’re not.” 

“A hydrogen and oxygen walk into a bar? The bartender says, “there’s too much alcohol in here”? Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t find that funny.” 

“Actually,” she quips, “I just find it really fucking nerdy of you.” 

“Why are you so mean to me?” he whines. He sighs heavily and looks away, hands curling around his backpack straps. “I’m starting to think you don’t  _ actually _ want to hang out with me.” 

“Just starting to think, Gross? I’m losing my edge, then.” 

He frowns at her. “Why, then?” 

“Why what, Gross?” Devi raises an eyebrow, smirking, but the smirk fades at the intense look in Ben’s eyes. 

(malibu, malibu, malibu. ben's mouth on hers. the hummingbird beat of his heart against her palm, rapid and strong and steady)

“Why are you hanging out with me?” 

Devi swallows. She’s never been good with—with stuff like this. Real, hard-hitting, emotional. 

The thing about Ben, though, is that he makes her confront parts of her she keeps locked away. He is like a flashlight, shining a light on parts of her she never knew how to illuminate, helping her discover her truths. 

But before Devi can answer, Mother Nature answers for her, and it starts pouring rain.

She shrieks nearly instantly, throwing her hands up over her head, and Ben swears, looking up at the sky, and Devi looks around blindly, searching for the nearest shelter. “Come on!” she shouts, grappling for Ben’s hand, pulling him blindly towards a tree. 

Ben stumbles behind her, and by the time they reach the tree, they’re utterly soaked. It’s not even that great of a shelter, more gaps than there are leaves, but it’s  _ something. _ Devi’s glad that her backpack is waterproof, to protect her laptop, but her clothes are most certainly not, and her hair is plastered to her face, insanely unflatteringly. 

Water flies off of her as she shakes her head, pushing wet hair away from her face, and she opens her eyes to see Ben smirking at her. “You look like a drowned rat, David,” he says. 

Devi scowls at him, flipping him off. “You don’t look so hot yourself.” 

“Are you kidding me?” he scoffs. “I’m jacked, and now I’m soaked. This is like, primo real estate for your eyes. You should be drinking this in.” 

Devi can’t help but roll her eyes and shove him for that. “You’re  _ unbelievably _ full of yourself. Like, seriously, how do you fucking survive?” 

“When you look like me, it’s kind of inevitable, isn’t it?’ 

“Such a dick,” Devi mutters, biting back a smile, shoving him again. 

Ben catches her wrist with his hand quickly, tugging her a little closer. “Stop with the physical abuse, David. Someone might get the wrong idea, and think you hate me.” 

“Oh, really?” she smirks, pulling her wrist free, ignoring how it burns from his touch. 

He laughs, shaking his head. His eyes catch on something, though, and then he’s reaching up towards her hair, and she doesn’t want to say her breath hitches in her chest like she’s some goddamn heroine in a romance novel, but, well. 

Ben’s fingertips graze her temple, and she doesn’t know why that touch—impossibly light and fleeting—sends sparks down her spine. She wants him to move his hand, to cup her jaw and tug her closer, pressing his mouth against hers, hard and soft and in a million other ways. 

Devi will not admit this to anyone— _ anyone,  _ ever—but she thinks about it. A lot, actually. Thinks about all the different ways Ben would kiss her: on the cheek, the forehead, the nose. But mostly, she thinks about him kissing her on the lips, how soft she knows his lips would be, kissing her hard. Or maybe he would kiss her soft, like she was something to be treasured. Maybe he would kiss her passionately, pull her against him, push her up against the bark of the tree. Maybe he would kiss her chastely, or maybe deeply. 

God, she wants to find out. Find out what exactly to do to make him sigh, wants to find out how he would react if she carded her hands through his hair, if she kissed his cheek and trailed her fingers down the slope of his nose. 

(she shakes with how much she wants it) 

His fingers wrap around a few strands of hair, and when he pulls away, Devi spots the crumpled leaf in his hand. “Um,” he rasps, still looking right at her. “This was in your hair.” 

Devi can’t even begin to think about tearing her eyes away from his face. “Thank you,” she murmurs. 

She breathes in, runs her tongue over her lips. She watches Ben swallow, watches the drops of water fall off his eyelashes as she stares into his eyes, made impossibly blue by the water dotting his face. Devi cannot imagine doing anything but kissing him. 

So she steps forward, raising her hands up. She presses them against his chest, and Ben’s hands fall to her waist. Their noses brush, and Devi looks right into his eyes. 

(malibu, malibu, malibu. ben's mouth on hers. the hummingbird beat of his heart against her palm, rapid and strong and steady. the taste of spearmint, sharp and clean and spiced)

His eyelashes flutter, and she thinks she can feel them against her cheek. They’re so close, so so close. 

She is just about to raise her mouth to his, to brush her lips against his, when suddenly, the rain around them stops. 

It’s as if a spell has been broken, at least, on her, and she steps back instantly, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to do so. 

“I’m—I’m sorry,” she stammers. 

And before Ben can say anything else, Devi turns on her heel and runs. Like she always has done, when it comes to him. 

(she’s worried she doesn’t know how to stop) 

* * *

“Devi,” Eleanor says, snapping her fingers.

Devi jolts back into focus. “Huh?”

They're in the school gymnasium for winter formal, and Devi's standing on the edge of the dance floor, while her friends chatter on and on about something, lost in her own thoughts.

Eleanor sighs. “That’s the fourth time you’ve gotten distracted tonight, if I wasn’t such a good friend, I’d assume it’s because you don’t care all that much about my role in the school play.”

“I wasn’t distracted,” Devi protests with a huff.  She smoothes her hands over her torso, suddenly nervous in her red dress. It's only tea length, unlike Eleanor's full-length gown, and the sleeves are soft against her elbows, brushing her forearms. But she looks good, and she loves this color on her, so there's no real reason for her to be nervous. Devi knows red represents passion, power, energy, ambition, determination. It’s the perfect color for her in both hue and symbolism.

Eleanor places a hand on her hip. “Oh, yeah? Well, what was I talking about?” She looks regal, like a queen of a faraway land in her flowy pink dress, with her perfectly matching, manicured makeup.

Devi ponders the question for a moment, because quite frankly, she has no idea what Eleanor was talking about. She  _ was _ distracted, she just doesn’t want to admit that to her two best friends. She tries to remember something about the play that Eleanor complained about in the past.

“You were talking about how Mr. Reynolds isn’t doing enough to recognize your talent?”

Eleanor barks out a laugh. “No, that was what I complained about yesterday.” Her expression shifts into one of concern. “Clearly something else is on your mind.” She pokes her in the arm. “Spill.”

“Nothing else is on my mind!”

“Come on, El. It’s obvious what’s on her mind,” Fabiola says, a smug smile beginning to cross her face. She’s wearing a yellow suit, and when Devi looks at her awe-inspiring friend, she’s convinced that no man could ever pull off a suit as well as she does. “Or should I say  _ who _ .”

She already knows who Fabiola is referring to before she sees him, but she follows her friend's gaze anyway. Eventually, she spots Ben, donning a blazer that perfectly complements his stupidly pretty eyes, getting himself a cup of punch.

“No way,” Devi hisses. “We are not talking about this now. In fact, we’re not talking about this ever.”

Fabiola sighs, weary, exasperated, annoyed. “Oh come on, Devi, it’s obvious how you feel about him. And it’s even more obvious how he feels about you.” She says the words with the same conviction that she could recite a math or physics formula, like it’s a perfect, unquestionable truth.

(and perhaps her feelings for ben are just that: something unquestionable and undeniable, like a basic scientific principle. they always were that easy to parse out when they were nemeses, after all)

Or maybe they’re not. “No,” she repeats, shaking her head. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“Fab’s right, Devi, I mean, we all know you kissed him at Malibu, what we don’t know is why you two still haven’t sorted out your shit.” Eleanor taps her chin. “Actually, we do know why, it’s because you’re both idiots.”

Devi fixates on the first part of Eleanor’s statement, palms growing clammy. Her voice comes  out quiet. “Wait, how did you know about that?” She glances over at Ben again, he’s laughing with someone she recognizes from their history class, and she feels her heart twist in her chest.  _ Had he said something? _

“About what?” Eleanor asks, feigning innocence and batting her eyelashes.

Devi twists her hands, wringing them tightly. “About Malibu,” she says, voice as low, like she’s sharing a secret.

Fabiola clearly does not catch on and snorts. “Please, Devi, I think the entire school knows.”

Eleanor hums. “You might want to consider taking some acting classes from me to up your subtly game.”

Devi rolls her eyes. “You’re not exactly subtle either, Eleanor.” She then turns back to Fabiola. “I’m sorry, what the hell do you mean everyone knows?”

Fabiola just shrugs her shoulders and smiles. “I mean exactly that.”

“Enemies to friends to lovers,” Eleanor sighs, dreamily. “The slow burn of it all is pretty romantic, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask.” Devi clenches her jaw, and hardens her gaze, so it’s as sharp as a butcher knife. She shoots daggers at both Eleanor and Fabiola. “And we’re not lovers.”

“Yet,” Fabiola smirks.

“Ever,” Devi corrects.

“For now,” Eleanor simpers, before poking her in the shoulder. “And speak of the devil.”

Devi swivels around and notices Ben approaching them. “David,” he greets, stupid, heart palpitation inducing smile gracing his face.

“Gross.” She tries to be standoffish with him, really she tries, and it used to be so, so easy, but now she can’t stop herself from matching his smile with one of her own. She hates that he has this effect on her.

(she loves it. she never wants ben to stop affecting her this way. deeply, viscerally, intensely, making her combust from within when his gaze lingers for even a moment too long)

Eleanor clears her throat, reaching for Fab’s arm. “We’re gonna get some punch.”

“Oh, but I’ve already had enough to dri—”

Eleanor’s grip and tone harden, like lava solidifying into obsidian. “We’re gonna get some punch,” she repeats, more emphatically, and before Fabiola can put in another word of protest, she’s dragging them both away.

Once they’re out of earshot, Ben laughs. “Your friends are... subtle.”

Devi smiles. “I taught them everything I know.”

Ben quirks an eyebrow and smirks. “Oh, so nothing?”

Devi playfully punches him in the shoulder. “Shut up, Gross, you’re no better.”

Ben hums, his eyes twinkling. “Given I’m your superior with respect to everything, I doubt that’s true.”

“Oh, yeah?” Devi challenges, grinning. She leans in a bit, relishing the way Ben’s eyes spark with intrigue. “Prove it.”

The song in the background changes from an earworm of a pop song to something slow and soft.

“Alright.” He holds out his hand. “Dance with me.”

Devi gapes at him. “W—what?”

“You want me to prove my superiority, and I figure slow dancing, given we’re at winter formal, is as good a starting point as any. So, dance with me.”

It’s not a question or an invitation, it’s a dare, one that makes Devi’s veins roar with adrenaline.

She raises her hand to take his, contemplating saying yes, because god does she want to, god does she long for his arms around her again, holding her close to him. 

(malibu, malibu, malibu. ben's mouth on hers. the hummingbird beat of his heart against her palm, rapid and strong and steady. the taste of spearmint, sharp and clean and spiced. his hand in her hair, fingers tangled in the strands, holding her like a diamond, something strong and unbreaking, but still precious, still special)

But it’s  _ too much _ .

No matter how much she wants it, how much her body fucking  _ aches _ for it, it’s too much. 

She drops her hand and shakes her head. “No.”

Hurt flickers across his expression, but it’s immediately replaced with something inordinately smug. “Of course not, you couldn’t keep up with me.”

Devi crosses her arms over her chest. “I so could.”

Ben ignores her. “You’re basically admitting that I’m better than you.”

She scoffs. “I’m sure you suck at dancing the way you suck at everything else, Gross.”

He leans in even closer and drops his voice to a whisper. “Wanna bet?” His eyes gleam with a challenge and something in Devi snaps. She raises her hand up and practically clutches his, eyes boring right into his own. 

“Fine,” she grumbles, as he pulls her towards the dance floor. “But only to prove that I absolutely can keep up with you.”

Ben huffs a laugh, placing his hands on her hips. “We’ll see about that.”

Devi feels her breath catch at the contact, but quickly recovers placing her arms on his shoulders and linking them behind his head.

She hopes he can’t tell how much her pulse is racing, for when Ben touches her, she feels aflame. She feels like a catastrophic wildfire is burning within her, yet that inferno allows for the growth of something new.

“You can pull me closer, you know?” Devi says, regretting the words the instant they’re out of her mouth.

Her regrets vanish when Ben moves one of his hands from her hips to rest on the sliver of bare skin on her back exposed by her dress. She suddenly feels incredibly cold and sensitized where he touches her, feeling every callous on the pads of his fingertips, every line on the palm of his hand.

(or maybe her regrets intensify)

He pulls her closer, fingers digging into her back slightly. It’s paradoxical how hot his hand feels through the fabric of her dress, while it somehow sends a chill throughout her entire body. Devi shifts a little uncomfortably, linking her hands behind his head, and resists the urge to drag her hands through his hair. She knows how soft it would be. 

“Close enough for you?” he smirks.

Devi doesn’t dignify that with a response, they just continue to sway in time with the music. It’s easy, simple, straightforward in a way not a lot of things are with Ben anymore.

(since malibu things have been complex, challenging, confusing)

“You look nice,” Ben eventually says, eyes scoring over her. He studies her with the same intensity that an alchemist does a synthesis reaction taking place in a flask. Like she’s vitally important and valuable.

Too much intensity, and Devi’s never been good at that, never been good at handling how Ben looks at her, so she soundly ignores it. She rolls her eyes. “Just nice, Gross? You know, in 12th century England, nice meant foolish.” 

Ben furrows his brow as he deftly maneuvers them out of the way of a couple leaving the dance floor, pulling her flush against him for a moment. When they shift back into position, she doesn’t step away, instead moving a hand to curl around his shoulder, staying close to him. “You really think I’m calling you foolish?”

Devi scoffs. “Of course not, you’re not smart enough to know the 12th century meaning of nice.”

“David,” Ben whines. “Just taking the fucking compliment.”

Devi tosses her head back and forth. “Fine.” Then, she smiles, soft, warm, perhaps a bit affectionate. “Thank you.”

Ben smiles, then something roguish flashes in his eyes and he dips her down, and Devi is pretty sure her heart stops in her chest.

His grip on her is secure and firm, so despite the fact that he’s sent her tumbling into freefall, she still feels like she’s on solid ground.

He pulls her back up moments later, resuming their slow, gentle swaying. He curls the strands of her hair around his finger as he drags his hand up her back to rest between her shoulder blades. He leans in to murmur the next words in her ear. “Smooth, right?”

His hot breath against her ear makes her shiver, but Devi still forces a grimace. “It was until you mentioned it.” She prays he can’t hear her voice shake, and she turns her head away from him, nose brushing his ear as she looks out over his shoulder. 

Ben still takes the victory. “So you admit it, I am good at dancing.”

“You’re passably decent,” Devi agrees, mostly to get him to shut up.

“Oh, Devi,” he says, and something in his tone forces her to look at him. “I think we both know I’m more than that.”

Devi again feels her breath hitch, and seriously the number of times he’s done this to her tonight  _ cannot _ be good for her health.

(malibu, malibu, malibu. ben's mouth on hers. the hummingbird beat of his heart against her palm, rapid and strong and steady. the taste of spearmint, sharp and clean and spiced. his hand in her hair, fingers tangled in the strands, holding her like a diamond, something strong and unbreaking, but still precious, still special. the way her eyes had slid shut, as if they knew the only thing she’d wanted, in that exact moment, was for him to press his lips against hers once more, just one last time, to remember what it felt like)

She wants to kiss him, desperately. Wants to kiss him more than she’s ever wanted anything in a long, long time. It’s a deep, visceral, longing ache, the way she craves his mouth on hers, his hand in her hair, the beat of his heart under her palm.

It would be so easy to kiss him right now, they’re already standing so close, all she’d have to do is lean in a bit to close the miniscule distance between them. There’s barely enough space between them for atoms to exist. 

She wants him the way the positive is attracted to the negative, the way two magnets of opposing poles are drawn to one another. The way she wants him is vital, instinctual, and feels like a natural law of the universe.

Devi can feel it, can practically taste the adrenaline on her tongue, can hear the pounding of her heart as she stares at him, at his mouth, impossibly, intoxicatingly close, her head spinning with the force of her desire, coded into her DNA, shot through her veins, carved into her bones. 

(and she hopes, oh, she hopes, ben wants her the same animalistic, primal way)

As she leans in, she’s reminded of gravity, of electromagnetism, of other powerful, intangible forces.

He pulls her in the way quicksand does, without relent or compromise, and she doesn’t fight him. She’s so, so close, and she thinks she feels his thumb tilting up her chin and—

The last guitar chord of the song rings out.

The music changes to a dramatic, up-tempo dance number, and she pulls back from Ben exactly as his hands fall away from her.

And the moment shatters.

* * *

She blames Ben, frankly. 

He’s the one who had begged her to come to the party with him (after the debacles that had resulted in her getting attacked by a coyote and falling into Ben’s pool, she’s largely sworn off of high school parties—getting drunk was not  _ nearly _ as fun as  _ Riverdale _ made it seem) and she’d protested weakly, at first, but he’d been unrelenting, bugging her until she’d given in. 

(don’t tell him, but the second he’d turned his blue, blue eyes on hers, she’d known she was going to give in and go with him. it’s getting a little annoying, how easily he can get her to cave just with the shine of his eyes, or the curve of his lips)

But it’s so  _ boring _ Devi thinks she might die. 

She’s currently leaning against the door, one leg crossed over the other, watching in disgust as several of her classmates chug cans of beer in an insane, juvenile competition that she knows will result in half of them being wasted by the end of the night. 

Having been there herself, she knows the alcohol is nowhere  _ near _ good enough to make up for the horrible aftereffects. 

Which is why she ends up being an observer rather than a participant. 

Ben materializes at her side, and she turns her nose up at him, decidedly ignoring his cerulean gaze. She’s pissed at him right now. 

“David,” he whines, poking her in the shoulder. 

“What, Gross?” she snaps. She crosses her arms and continues to look away from him, fixating on a spot on the wall next to a lamp. “Are you talking to me?” 

“Why are you ignoring me?” he asks. 

Devi doesn’t give him a response, just shakes her head and huffs. “God,” she mutters, under her breath. 

“Devi,” Ben says, voice dripping with condescension, “I can’t fix this if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” 

Devi finally turns to look at him, scowling. “You ditched me.” 

Shock flits over Ben’s face. “What?” 

“You ditched me,” she says, casting her gaze to the floor. “To go talk to other people. Ben, the whole reason I came to this fucking party was for  _ you. _ You wanted someone to go along with you, so I did, and the second we got here, you ditched me.” 

“Devi,” he says, slightly shocked. “That was like for five minutes!”

It wasn’t just the fact that Ben had ditched her, though, however momentarily it had been. It had been who he ditched her  _ for. _

Stupid girl from Model UN. She doesn’t see what was so important about this girl that Ben had to talk to her right away, that he had to ditch her. 

And ok, she’s definitely being unfairly mean to this girl and petty, she knows that, and Devi doesn’t actually think this girl is deserving of any of this, but it’s really hard to not pretend like watching Ben leave her for someone else hadn’t hurt. Because it had, a lot, really, and she doesn’t want to really think about why that is. 

Cause she’d only agreed to this party to spend more time with him, and for him to just—

“Devi,” Ben says, interrupting her train of thought. Devi pulls her gaze from his stupid sneakers and looks into his eyes, and she nearly curses him for having eyes that make her feel like she can’t lie to him. “I’m sorry.” 

She clears her throat, biting her lip, hating how instantly she feels compelled to forgive him. “Never thought you would say that to me, Gross,” she murmurs. 

Ben smiles at her, and she feels, just a little bit, like she’s been shoved into a pool. Whenever he smiles at her like that, she feels like she’s underwater. Sounds become muffled, and she thinks she is floating. It’s not fair, the way her heart twists in her chest whenever he smiles at her. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it to her. 

“Don’t get used to it, David,” he smirks. “I hardly fuck up, so there’s no reason for me to ever apologize to you.” 

Devi feels a little of the tension recede, and her mouth quirks up at Ben’s quip. “So you’re saying you’d never grovel for forgiveness from me?” 

Ben raises an eyebrow. “I’d never grovel, ever.” 

Devi leans forward, lowering her voice as though this is a secret only she and Ben can know, although no one around them is listening to them, so it’s entirely performative. “No? Not for any reason?”

The smirk slides off of Ben’s face, as he stares into her eyes, impossibly bright and intense, and she realizes she’s made a  _ very _ big mistake leaning in this close to him. She can smell sandalwood, impossibly strong, and the way his eyes score over her face, drinking her in, makes her head spin. 

(malibu, malibu, malibu. ben's mouth on hers. the hummingbird beat of his heart against her palm, rapid and strong and steady. the taste of spearmint, sharp and clean and spiced. his hand in her hair, fingers tangled in the strands, holding her like a diamond, something strong and unbreaking, but still precious, still special. the way her eyes had slid shut, as if they knew the only thing she’d wanted, in that exact moment, was for him to press his lips against hers once more, just one last time, to remember what it felt like. sandalwood and blue eyes and impossibly soft lips, drowning in him like a tidal wave)

Devi clears her throat before Ben can answer and steps away from him, putting some much needed distance between them. 

(is it really much needed if she hates how much she needs it?) 

“Anyways,” Devi laughs awkwardly, desperate to diffuse the tension between them, “you fucked up this time, Gross, so thanks for the apology.” As if it’ll help anything, she punches him in the shoulder lightly, chuckling even as her heart hammers away in her chest. 

“Yeah.” He laughs equally awkwardly and turns away from her, running a hand through his hair. She traces the cursed veins of his forearms with her eyes before she realizes she shouldn’t be staring at him so blatantly. 

But all she can really think about is stepping a bit closer to him. 

“This party blows,” Ben announces, after a beat of silence between them. He glances at her. “Wanna ditch?” 

Devi snorts, shaking her head. “Where would we even go?” 

“Anywhere but here,” he says. Ben reaches out and wraps his hand around her wrist, tugging her through the house. 

She prays that he can’t feel how her pulse rockets up at the press of his fingers against her wrist. Whenever Ben touches her, it feels like sparklers igniting in her system, not as intense as a firework, but just as hot. 

Devi stumbles after him as he pulls her through the house, stopping to swipe something off the table before tugging her out the door. “Ben!” she groans, crashing into him as he stops abruptly on the cobblestone pathway. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Come on,” he says, grinning at her, a touch rakish, and it makes her heart flip in her chest. “You don’t want to stay here, do you?” 

“Considering we’re surrounded by people, Gross, I think it makes sense to stay here so we don’t get insanely murdered.” 

“Are there levels to which someone can get murdered to signify the insanity of it?” he asks, smirking. He drags her to his car, parked on the corner of the street. 

Devi rolls her eyes. “What?” 

“You said insanely murdered,” he points out, sitting on the hood of his car. He lets go of her wrist, and she reluctantly settles it in her lap as she slides over next to him. He is so, so close, and it reminds her of the myth of Tantalus, the fruit so close, yet just far enough away to never be reached. “Denoting a significant difference between simple, run-of-the-mill murder and insane murder. I’d like to know the difference between the two.” 

Devi scowls at him. “You’re just being an obstinate jackass right now.” 

Ben grins at her. “You like it.” 

Fuck, she does, and she hates how much she likes it, because it feels like heat is spreading from her heart to the very tips of her fingers, to the soles of her feet, like her face is on fire, and all she wants to do is lean in and press her lips to his, for him to catch fire from her. 

Devi laughs, instead, and turns away from him. “Yeah, right.”

“Glad to see you’ve finally come to your senses and agreed with me.” Ben leans back, the scrape of his jeans against her thigh far too tempting. “Cause if you hadn’t, I would have just bribed you.” 

Devi rolls her eyes. “How? You don’t even have anything I want.” 

“This?” he says. 

Devi looks over to see him holding a beer can. She rolls her eyes. “Beer is disgusting. Horrible bribe. Maybe crack open that wallet of yours and pull out a few bills that  _ aren’t _ one dollar’s worth.” 

Ben hands her the can, and she pops it open, taking a sip and wrinkling her nose before passing it back to him. He takes a sip as well. “I do hate beer,” he says, agreeably. 

“Then why did you get one for us?” 

“I don’t know.” He draws a line down the condensation of the can with his finger, studying it intently, and for an errant second, she wonders what it would be like if he touched  _ her _ with such intent and purpose, before she banishes those thoughts from her mind. “Thought it would be a good ice breaker.” 

She snorts, ignoring the faint spark that ignites in her blood when their fingers brush as she takes the can back. “Since when have we needed an ice breaker?” 

Ben huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he sips the beer, and her eyes linger on his face, cast in shadows, just the porch light illuminating him. “Fair enough.” 

He leans down and drops the can next to his car, and Devi runs a hand through her hair, wincing as she pulls against some of the tangles there. 

“You ok?” 

Devi turns to see Ben looking at her with worried blue eyes, her hand still caught in her hair. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” she says. “Just have a few tangles in my hair.” She lifts it off of the back of her neck before letting her hair drop down. “It’s a little hot, too.” 

Ben rubs the back of his neck, and if she didn’t know better, she would say he looked almost nervous. “I mean, I could, I guess I—could help and—”    
  
“Spit it out, Gross.” 

“I could braid your hair for you,” he blurts out.

Devi blinks at him in shock. Never, in a million years, would she have expected him to say something like that. 

“You—you want to braid my hair for me?” she says, voice impossibly quiet. 

Ben’s cheeks flush pink, and he glances down at the ground. “It was just an offer,” he mumbles, words so jumbled she can barely hear them. “I get if you don’t want me to.” 

Devi stares at him. “No, I just—I didn’t think you knew how to do that.” 

Ben’s hands shake slightly, and he cracks a small smile. “Yeah, I’d always used to do it for Patty’s daughter whenever she came. I don’t know, there’s something calming about it.” 

She swallows roughly. “Uh, yeah, ok.” 

(she doesn’t know why she agrees, but perhaps there needs to be no reason behind it, no reason beyond her wanting it)

The smile he gives her, oh, but the smile he gives her only makes her want it more. It’s soft and shy and she thinks that it creates whole galaxies, and her whole body aches with how much she wants him to press that smile against her lips. 

Ben pushes himself a bit back, and he reaches a hand out, gently dragging his hand through her hair. Devi stiffens, at first, but relaxes as he continues to do so, over and over again. It’s a startling dichotomy, the way he makes her feel, peaceful and explosive, all at the same time. 

(it makes sense, she realizes. because blue is both serene and torrential, blue is the gentle lapping of the waves and the hottest star in the sky. ben makes her feel like she’s standing both in a tide pool and on the surface of a star whenever he looks at her) 

“Aren’t you going to, you know, actually braid my hair, Gross?” she smirks. 

She can practically  _ hear _ Ben roll his eyes. “I need to get rid of these tangles first, David. Seriously, do you not brush your hair?” 

Devi scowls. “Shut the fuck up, Ben.” 

He just laughs, and she doesn’t know if this is on purpose, but she can feel the warm burst of air against the back of her neck and it sends shivers down her spine, pooling in the small of her back. It’s electrifying, like she’s been struck by lightning, her whole body zipping with current. 

Ben always makes her feel like a livewire, and she’s rapidly becoming hooked on to the high she gets when she’s with him. She’s an addict, but only for his touch. 

He pulls gently at her hair, methodically, carefully undoing the tangles in her hair, and she shifts, her breath catching when she realizes she’s now sitting with her back almost pressed up against his chest. He doesn’t seem to notice, and she can hear the faint strains of music as he hums, his mouth right next to her ear. 

It’s supposed to be soothing, supposed to be comforting, but all Devi can think about is how badly she wants to pull him even fucking closer, to have him wrap his arms around her and rest her head against his chest, so that his heartbeat thumps against her ear. 

She’s desperate to break the tension between them, so palpable she thinks her body is vibrating with it, which is perhaps why she says what she does. 

“My dad used to braid my hair for me.” 

Ben’s hands still in her hair for a half-second, before they resume their gentle untangling of the knots. His fingers brush the nape of her neck, and she bites back a whimper, resisting the urge to melt back into him and just losing herself in his arms. 

The pain of losing her father never really goes away, but when she’s wrapped in his arms, it gets a little easier to handle. 

(a little, but not much) 

“That’s sweet,” Ben murmurs. He drags his hands through her hair easily, sweeping it back from her face, and gathering it at her back. “Seems like something your dad would do, you know?” 

Devi feels her mouth curl up at the memory. “Yeah. You know, they always came out wonky.” 

“Wonky?” Ben repeats, dividing her hair. His fingers skim against her back, impossibly warm, and as if he’s a sorcerer, the tension melts from her, and she relaxes even more, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re telling me your father wasn’t absolutely perfect at everything he did?” 

Devi bursts out into laughter, wide and bright and unrestrained, and the memory of her father—it makes her want to laugh, instead of cry. “Oh, god, no,” she wheezes. “Perhaps the worst dancer I’ve ever seen—besides you, of course—and he literally could not sing to save his  _ life. _ He wasn’t that great at hair braiding, either, but he always tried.” 

“I’m a great dancer,” Ben grumbles, fingers working nimbly at her hair, just skating against her back, and Devi feels heat rise up in her cheeks at the memory of winter formal, but she pushes it down and soldiers on. 

“Well, dancing status aside, yeah, he was never as good at braiding my hair as my mom. They always ended up crooked and uneven, and my mom would always resist laughing when she saw me after he did my hair.” 

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” Ben’s hands slow down, and Devi is well aware he is going far slower than necessary, but she can’t bring herself to call him out on it either. 

(she wants this moment to last as long as possible) 

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I loved it. He’d always put coconut oil in my hair, and it would smell amazing.” 

“Coconut oil?” Ben murmurs. He tugs on her hair slightly, ever so slightly, and a shock of warmth spreads through her body. “Sounds nice.” 

Devi’s hands shake as she clasps them around one another, and she squeezes her eyes shut to stave off her tears. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it did.” 

Ben’s hands still in her hair, and she can feel the braid settle down her back as he gently releases it, his hands curling over her shoulders reassuringly. “We can stop talking about him, if you want,” he murmurs, quietly. 

She takes in a shuddering breath, imagines wind whipping the wildfire flames in her stomach. “No, no, please,” she says. It’s not a plea, but she needs this. Needs to talk about her father. “No, this is good.” 

“Ok,” he murmurs. He resumes his braiding of her hair, impossibly slow. “Keep going.” 

“So, um, my father had the best laugh in the world,” she manages to choke out. “I don’t—sometimes I can still hear him laughing.” Devi swallows roughly. “I don’t know what we’re going to do without him.’ 

Ben ties off the bottom of her braid, and instead of pulling away from her, his hands linger on her back, far too tempting for her own good. “What do you mean?” 

“My mother and I,” she murmurs. “I don’t—I don’t think we can survive another fight without my father.” She blinks back her tears. “I don’t know how to bridge this rift we have.” 

“Oh, Devi.” 

Ben pulls her closer to him, and she rests her head against his chest. 

(it’s weird and crosses all sorts of lines, obliterates the boundaries they’ve both set up and respected, up until now. but right now sadness and grief and longing threatens to swallow her whole, like the sea swallows a sandcastle, and she needs him, needs him like she’s never needed anyone else before) 

“I’m so scared, Ben,” she confesses. This is a fear almost no one in the world knows, a fear she keeps hidden. “I’m scared I’m gonna lose her again. We almost lost each other once. Who’s to say we won’t do it again? And I don’t think I can survive losing  _ both _ of my parents.” 

Ben’s arms come up around her and pull her closer into him and she thinks she might cry from how tightly he is gripping her, but she finally feels like she can breathe. “You have to be your own bridge, Devi.” 

She gets the strange, almost unbidden feeling that Ben does not know what to say, but he is trying and she thinks she might love him because of that. 

“My own bridge?” she murmurs, closing her eyes. He is so impossibly warm in the cool night, and all of a sudden, she is so exhausted, tired enough she does not think she can hold up her own body. 

“Your own bridge,” he repeats. “You’re strong enough to do it, Devi. You’re the strongest person I know.” 

“What does that even mean, Ben?” 

She can hear him sigh, feel him rest his chin atop her head, and it’s so painfully reminiscent of the nights before Malibu, at his house, when she would crawl into his arms and have him hold her until she fell asleep. 

“It means you can’t widen the gap. Maybe, Devi, you have to be the first one to reach out.” 

She bites her lip, hating how right he is. “What would you do?” 

“I would say sorry,” he whispers. “Even if I had already said it before. And I would—you could—remember that she’s hurting just as much as you. And that you guys just can’t stop trying. Because not trying is worse than failing.” 

Devi burrows her head further into his chest, feeling his arms wrap around her tighter, so close. God, she can’t even think about leaving. 

(please,  _ please. _ all she wants is to sit here with him, to hold him, to have him hold her. she’s so fucking tired of pulling away)

“Did you try this with—with your parents?” she murmurs. 

“Please,” he snorts. “As if.” 

“What?” she says, into his chest. “What’s the difference?” 

Ben barks out a dry, bitter laugh. “The difference between us, Devi, is that you can fix the gap between you and your mom. There’s just no hope for me.” 

Devi pulls away from him and turns around, looking at him for the first time since they ended up here, under the stars. “Don’t say that, Ben.” His eyes glow forget-me-not blue in the light, almost periwinkle. 

Ben smiles at her wryly. “It’s true.” 

Devi resists the urge to grind her teeth. “It shouldn’t be.” 

“Devi,” he protests. 

She won’t listen to it. Devi holds up her hand, shaking her head. “You deserve better, Ben. And maybe one day, you’ll be able to fix the gap.” 

“I wouldn’t count on it,” he murmurs, and he looks so impossibly sad, eyes a million miles away, that her heart aches. Both for him, and because she doesn’t know how to fix him. 

Devi reaches up, drags her fingers across his cheek gently. Her gaze drops to his mouth, and then back up to his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” 

He cracks a sad smile. “Isn’t that my line?” 

She can’t pull her eyes from his mouth, and her whole body thrums with the need to kiss him, to kiss his lips as soft as cherry blossoms and to breathe in the spicy scent of sandalwood, to melt into him completely and slowly, the way glaciers melt to create lakes. 

(malibu, malibu, malibu. ben's mouth on hers. the hummingbird beat of his heart against her palm, rapid and strong and steady. the taste of spearmint, sharp and clean and spiced. his hand in her hair, fingers tangled in the strands, holding her like a diamond, something strong and unbreaking, but still precious, still special. the way her eyes had slid shut, as if they knew the only thing she’d wanted, in that exact moment, was for him to press his lips against hers once more, just one last time, to remember what it felt like. sandalwood and blue eyes and impossibly soft lips, drowning in him like a tidal wave. the way he’d looked at her)

Devi’s eyes slide shut, her fingers trembling on Ben’s cheek, and she leans in, slow, gentle, the speed at which Pluto orbits the sun, bit by bit, and she can feel Ben’s breathe shudder against her lips, hot, his hand tightens on her waist, thumb rubbing circles into her stomach, and this is all she wants, the only thing she can think about right now. 

They are impossibly closer, and she thinks she can just feel the whisper of his mouth against hers, and she wants to lean in and press her mouth against his firmly, to card her hands through his hair and pull him even closer, and she is about to do just that when—

“Devi? Where are you? Our ride’s here.” 

She jerks back from Ben instantly, head whipping around to see Eleanor’s silhouette against the house. “I’m here, El,” she calls, ignoring the way she can feel Ben’s hand trembling on her waist. 

She pushes herself away from him, because if she doesn’t, right now, then she never will. 

Devi wraps her arms around herself and walks away from Ben, ignoring the way she thinks she might have left a piece of her heart back there with him.

* * *

They don’t really talk about it. 

Devi resents herself for it—not being able to talk to Ben, that is. Sometimes it’s weird, because she feels like she can talk to him about almost everything in the world—except this. 

She doesn’t know how to handle this, this halfway point they’re at. 

The way they don’t talk about what happened, it tears her apart. 

(malibu, malibu, malibu. ben's mouth on hers. the hummingbird beat of his heart against her palm, rapid and strong and steady. the taste of spearmint, sharp and clean and spiced. his hand in her hair, fingers tangled in the strands, holding her like a diamond, something strong and unbreaking, but still precious, still special. the way her eyes had slid shut, as if they knew the only thing she’d wanted, in that exact moment, was for him to press his lips against hers once more, just one last time, to remember what it felt like. sandalwood and blue eyes and impossibly soft lips, drowning in him like a tidal wave. the way he’d looked at her. like a dam breaking, the floodgates opening, a decade of emotion pouring out with the force of a locomotive)

And the worst part is that she knows Ben knows, but for some reason or another—she doesn’t want to dwell too long on what it could be—he doesn’t want to talk about it either. 

But she’s trapped in a downward spiral. She likens it to the pull of gravity a black hole has—at one point, she gives up fighting it. It—he, really—is too intoxicating for her to even pretend otherwise. It’s too exhausting. 

(she knows she’s setting herself up for heartbreak. she wishes she could be bothered to care) 

Perhaps that is why she ends up here, tucked into his couch, while Ben’s laugh echoes in her ear. They’d been studying for their history exam, but given up halfway through, too bored by the simplistic nature of the mock exam to really put any effort into competing with one another. 

So they’re watching some romantic movie or another—she’d put it on, ignoring Ben’s protests of wanting something more masculine, but even now she finds herself getting irritated at the maudlin antics of the characters on screen. 

“This is dumb,” she announces, burying herself further in the couch—and Ben’s side. His arm is loosely draped around the back of the couch, gently wrapping strands of her hair around his fingers, and it seems so natural to him she wonders if he even knows he is doing it. 

It is the only thing she can really think of. 

Ben’s mouth curves up in a smirk, and he glances at her. “You picked this movie, David.” 

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at the screen, ignoring the heat bleeding from his leg into her own thigh. “I can still criticize it.” 

“You picked it specifically because you said I had an emotional range worse than Ron Weasley and I need to cultivate my “more feminine side” so that I wouldn’t scare off all of the women at Yale,” he says, dry. 

She smacks him in the shoulder. “Fuck off, Gross.” 

“We’re in my house!” 

“Still, go away.” 

“Oh, I see how it is,” he grumbles, shifting on the couch, although he makes no move to push away from her. “You just want me for my TV.” 

“False,” Devi smirks. “I just want you for your screening room.” 

“Why are you the  _ definition _ of an asshole?” 

“That’s you. Look it up in the dictionary and you’ll find your picture next to it.” 

“At least I’ll look good.” 

“It’s a horrible picture.” 

“Oh, David,” Ben says, condescendingly, “when are you going to learn? There’s no such thing as a bad picture of me.” 

“Every picture of you is a horrible picture,” Devi shoots back. Ben just sticks his tongue out at her. 

“I can’t believe you’re so fucking mean to me,” he whines. 

Devi smacks him on the head, ignoring the whine he lets out. “Don’t be so sensitive.” 

“So now I’m too sensitive? Come on, David, make up your mind. Am I too sensitive or emotionally repressed?” 

“If there’s a way to be both, you’re it, Gross,” she quips. 

“Great.” Ben leans back against the couch, rolling his eyes at her. “I just fail at it all around, huh?” 

Devi smirks at him. “Yup.” 

“So mean to me,” he mutters, but she can tell he’s biting back a laugh, just like she is. 

Devi hums, turning her attention back to the screen, where the two characters are passionately making out. “Ugh,” she groans, wrinkling her nose. “I hate when movies do this.” 

“Do what?” 

“Overdramatize romance.” She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “It’s never like that in real life. People don’t just  _ know.” _

“You really think so?” 

“Well, ye—” Devi glances over at him as she answers, but she breaks off at the intense look in his eyes. They are bright blue, and she feels the words on her tongue evaporate as she looks at him longer, sucked into the whirlpools he holds in his irises. “Yes…?” she answers, weakly, pathetically. She can’t tear her eyes from his. 

Ben swallows, refusing to break eye contact first, and she cannot help but feel like she is losing control. 

It’s a game of chicken, one they always seem to circle back to, and Devi doesn’t really know how to handle it anymore. She doesn’t know what to do. 

“You think people don’t kiss like that in real life?” 

(real life. she's only kissed ben once before, but god, it was....it was better than a movie. better than cinematic, because it had been real, and the memory of it lingers whenever he looks at her like that, with this edge of wanting)

Holy shit this is  _ not fair. _ Ben cannot look at her like that and make her want to melt into his couch. She’s gonna fucking  _ sue _ him for this, she swears. 

“Um,” she stammers, heart racing in her chest. “Uh, I guess not?” 

Ben’s eyes flicker over her face, lingering (or at least, she hopes they are) on her mouth before rising back up to bore into her eyes. She traces the line of his jaw, clenched tight, with her eyes, wishing more than anything she might be able to trace that same line with her fingers, and then maybe with her lips. 

The urge to press her lips to his cheek is nearly overwhelming, nearly all-consuming and a little feral. She’s not really prepared for it, how badly she wants it, and so she bites her tongue to stop herself from throwing herself at him, clutching the blanket. 

(she wishes she were clutching his hand instead, fingers flexing around his) 

If—in some other world, where they were both a little braver, and she was a little less scared—if this were some other world, she knows what he would do. Probably say something ridiculously asshole-ish, like “let me show you”, and then he would kiss her. 

She knows how he would do it, too, because she knows him, knows how he would tilt her chin up by pressing his fingers under it, knows how he would take a second to drink her in with his eyes before leaning down, knows how he would press his hand between her shoulder blades as he pressed her into the couch, knows how his mouth would be hot against hers and criminally soft, more addictive than any drug in the world, knows how he would taste, sharp, like spearmint. 

Devi wants it, wants him to trace his fingers, gently, down the line of her neck, to breathe her name into her mouth as he kisses her, wants to card her hands through his hair as she kisses him back, pulling him impossibly close. 

(malibu, malibu, malibu. ben's mouth on hers. the hummingbird beat of his heart against her palm, rapid and strong and steady. the taste of spearmint, sharp and clean and spiced. his hand in her hair, fingers tangled in the strands, holding her like a diamond, something strong and unbreaking, but still precious, still special. the way her eyes had slid shut, as if they knew the only thing she’d wanted, in that exact moment, was for him to press his lips against hers once more, just one last time, to remember what it felt like. sandalwood and blue eyes and impossibly soft lips, drowning in him like a tidal wave. the way he’d looked at her. like a dam breaking, the floodgates opening, a decade of emotion pouring out with the force of a locomotive. the way she had felt when he kissed her, like every single butterfly in her body—a whole kaleidoscope of them—had taken aflight and soared through the air, like all she wanted to—all she had ever wanted to do—was to pull him closer, to hold onto him like he was her island in a hurricane, constant and there)

She wants him, wants Ben, and she thinks that it will be her desire that undoes her. 

Devi bites her lip, as if that will suffocate her want. It does not work. 

Because this is not a flame she can cover with her hands and snuff out, this is not something she can deprive of oxygen and kill. Because whenever Ben looks at her, it is like pure oxygen shot straight into the heart of the flames. She has no hope for exterminating it whenever he’s around. He makes it flare up. 

Ben reaches out, brushes a strand of hair from her face. She runs her tongue over her lips, and her eyes flutter shut for a split second. 

She is still looking at him (when is she not, really?), about to lean in, when everything plunges into darkness. 

Devi doesn’t scream, of course, but she sucks in a breath, so sharp it feels like it pierces her lungs. She grapples for Ben, in the dark, and she feels his arms wind around her, pulling her closer to him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, cradling her head. She buries her face in his chest, heart hammering away at breakneck speed. “Hey, it’s ok.” 

Devi knows that, knows it is ok, but she is still scared, so she just nods and clutches him a little tighter. 

Ben’s hand tightens in her hair, fingers weaving around the strands, and his thumb strokes back and forth across the nape of her neck, a motion she finds paradoxically soothing and intoxicating. She burrows her nose into his chest, resisting the urge to speak. 

(because for some reason if she speaks then whatever this is is gone and she can’t be the one to break it. not again)

She knows he will have to move, to get them light, but she can’t see him right now, can’t see the way she knows his blue eyes will glow, and for some reason, the darkness lets her breathe. 

And then the lights flicker back on. 

Devi pulls away almost instantly, unable to let him see her so vulnerable, although she knows that worry is shot now, and before he can say anything, she’s clearing her throat and pushing herself off the couch. “I need to go,” she says, quietly, not even looking him in the eyes. “My mom will be worried about me.” 

“Right,” he says, voice rough and raw. 

Running away from Ben is like self-immolation. He sets her on fire all over, and she is left to feel the pain burn through her body. But she doesn’t know how to stop. 

“Bye,” Devi says, and then she’s out the door. 

* * *

She officially has the worst track record at parties on the planet.

Devi’s first high school party, she’d been at the mercy of a coyote, her second, Ben’s pool. She’d sworn off parties, but found herself attending a few more at the request of her friends, which she managed to escape unscathed, thank god, but her track record restarts today. 

It’s starting to become a pattern.

Today, her misfortune hadn’t been spurred on by alcohol, or a fight with her friends, but simply her own clumsiness. 

She’d been bickering with Ben (seriously, how the  _ hell _ does he think  _ Westworld _ is a decent show?), standing in the backyard, when a random classmate of hers had accidentally brushed past. She’d tripped over her own two feet, fallen into the brushes, and gotten scratched by the brambles.

Which is how she ends up here, in the now deserted backyard, clutching the fence as Ben—why, of all people, did it have to be  _ him? _ —tends to her wounds.

She hisses as Ben dabs at one of her cuts with an alcohol doused swab. “You know,” he murmurs. “I don’t really want to be doing this.”

Devi jerks back from him, which, unfortunately, is even more painful. “Got something better to do with your time?” she seethes, tone exploding with anger.

Ben’s face turns bright pink. “No, not like that!” He holds up his hands. “That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?” Devi asks, more softly.

He bashfully rubs the back of his neck, then dabs the cut on her forehead. “I just don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Devi feels on fire, and she doesn’t know whether to blame the sting of her wound, or the softness of his touch and voice.

She manages a weak laugh. “Oh. Knew you were getting soft for me, Gross.”

Ben hums, bandaging the cut on her forehead. “You say that so often, I’m starting to think you want it to be true.”

(it's those words, spoken softer than she thought possible, that set off a chemical reaction in her systems, the same one a rocket undergoes lifting off into space, and then, with only pure momentum, and she is rising up and—)

Suddenly, she’s reaching up, cupping his face in both hands, and leaning forward to press her lips to his.

It’s soft and timid and shy, and when she pulls back only seconds later, she’s trembling. 

(it feels like every single cell in her body is vibrating, like some primal chord in her has been strung with the press of his lips on hers, and her hands shake in rhythm with her heart)

Devi lets her hands fall away from his face, as she blinks over and over and over again.

Then suddenly, Ben is surging forward to kiss her back, one of his hands tangling in her hair as he slants his mouth over hers. It’s nothing like Malibu, it’s  _ better _ . He kisses her with intent, with more certainty, more determination, more intensity than before.

He kisses her like it’s what he’s meant to do, like kissing her was the only reason he was crafted and put on this earth, like he’s been waiting for her his entire life.

His lips on hers are soft, and his hand that cups her jaw makes her feel warm, not in a ferocious, scorching way, but like the sun is shining on her. The warmth explodes from her stomach and stretches from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers and toes. He is  _ so _ warm, heat bleeding from his hand on her jaw, and Devi no longer knows if she is shaking, or if that is just because it feels like she’s tumbling through the air, in freefall. 

She reaches up a hand to card through his—soft, impossibly soft—hair and curls the other against his neck, thumb digging into his pulse point, so she can feel the beat of his heart.

(she knows, at 1260 beats per minute, the hummingbird has the fastest heartbeat in nature. but right now, as she kisses ben, she thinks both their hearts must be racing even faster)

He cradles the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair and steps even closer, but even so, Devi thinks he’ll never be close enough. Even as he tangles his hand in hair, even as he parts his lips against her mouth, even, even, even. Short of cracking her heart open and locking him in there, she doesn’t think Ben will ever be close enough for her. 

His kisses are soft and sweet, but simultaneously hard and hungry and she can’t stop kissing him,  _ she can’t _ . She knows her lips are going to be swollen by the end of this, but it’s a small price to pay, a miniscule consequence if she gets to keep kissing him like this. Her lungs burn, burn for air, but she’s happy to let him take her breath away for as long as he likes.

(she knows oxygen is something wholly essential and vital, a necessity for human life, but here and now, she decides that ben is an even more important component of her life)

Ben’s other hand flexes at the nape of her neck, tugging her closer to him, and she feels dizzy, as if he’s kissing the very breath from her lungs, but god, she doesn’t want to pull away, doesn’t want this moment to end. 

It’s strange, because the more she kisses Ben, the more she does not think she will ever get enough of him kissing her. His kisses do not satiate her hunger, but only fuel it. 

Eventually, she has to breathe though, has to stop kissing him, if only not to faint to the floor, so she pulls away.

She blinks rapidly, mouth falling agape as she stares at him. His eyes are wide and dark, and his lips are slightly swollen.  _ She did that. _ Holy shit, she just kissed Ben. Like, really, really kissed him. Basically made out with him.

But she knows that kissing him was more than something purely physical, more than pure momentum and kinetic energy. Her desire to kiss him, her impulsive action, was guided by pure emotion.

She thinks she might love him.

And that’s fucking terrifying.

Devi knows there’s a thin, thin line that exists between love and hatred, one knows she’s been teetering on the edge of since Malibu, but now knows she’s crossed that line.

(maybe she crossed it long ago, maybe she’s only admitting it to herself now)

And like crossing the Rubicon, like an irreversible chemical process, there’s no turning back. It’s the scariest thing she’s ever known.

But while she may not be able to turn back, may not be able to turn off her feelings for Ben, what she can do is run. For Devi, running is habitual and instinctive, it’s coded into her DNA whenever things get too tough or too hard or become too much.

She knows running from Ben is a double-edged sword because she knows it only hurts both of them, but it’s the only thing she can bring herself to do. It’s the only thing she can ever bring herself to do, trap her feelings in some deep, dark unreachable place, twist the lock, and throw away the key.

So she doesn’t say a word to him, she simply turns and runs. Runs as fast as her legs can carry her. Away, away, away.

What she fails to take into account is that running in the high heeled boots is practically impossible.

“Devi!” She feels a grip tighten on her arm, and she knows it’s him before she even turns around. “Devi, stop!”

Devi spins around to face him. “Ben.”

“Devi.”

She knows what he wants, knows he wants to talk about what just happened. But she doesn't want to talk about it, she's not going to. “Oh, shit! I forgot to wash the dishes!” she says, hastily, turning away from him once more, trying to tug her arm out of his grasp.

Ben’s grip doesn’t loosen, he doesn’t let her go, instead, his grasp tightens. “Stop it, I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything!” she protests, trying once more to tug herself free. “My mom is going to kill me, Ben, I need to go!”

“Devi.” His tone hardens. “Don’t deflect.”

“I’m not deflecting!”

“Liar,” Ben says, finally releasing her wrist so he can jab his pointer finger at her. “Don’t you dare lie to me, I’m not doing this again.”

Devi kicks at the ground with her foot, and crosses her arms over her chest, almost defiantly. “Doing what again?”

Ben rakes his hand through his hair and clenches his jaw. “You’re not being fair.”

“I have trigonometry homework to do.”

“Devi, we need to talk about this.”

“What, my homework?” she laughs, nervously. “It’s just a bunch of trig identities, which means they should be quick and easy, but I need to get them done before we do—”

“Devi.”

“—more stuff with double angles tomorrow, and I also really need to finish that calorimetry problem set for chem before we jump into—”

“Devi, I’m not doing this again.”

“—enthalpy and I’ve gotta do some bio review on DNA replication along with—”

“Devi!” Ben barks out, and the anger, the fury, the  _ venom _ in his tone silences her rambling. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard him this mad before, even in their ten year long rivalry. “Stop it, I know you’re already ahead in everything.”

Devi turns away from him, preparing once more to run. She bites her lip. “I—I’m not ahead.”

“Stop lying, stop it right now, Devi.”

Devi doesn’t even turn back to face him. “Stop what?”

“You don’t get to keep jerking me around like this,”

“I’m not jerking you around,” she mumbles. 

Ben sighs. “Devi.”

She finally turns back to face him, willing herself to look him in the eyes. His irises are a tempestuous, torrential storm, and they suck her in like a whirlpool.

“Ben,” she finally says.

He lets out a shuddery breath and runs his hand through his hair. “You can’t—” He swallows roughly. “You can’t keep kissing me and running away. It’s not fair for either of us.” His voice softens. “I know you’re scared, Devi—”

Devi scoffs. “I’m not scared.”

“I know you’re scared,” he repeats,  raising his hand, and extending it towards her . She thinks he might take her hand in his—and she wants him to, god, she wants him to—but then he quickly lets his arms fall to his side and his gaze becomes stone hard. “But I am done letting you leave me behind.”

The realization strikes Devi like a bolt of lightning, like the detonation of an atomic bomb. She can’t lose him.

She’s always been so worried that confronting Malibu, confronting the kiss(es) they’d shared, would be what would drive Ben away, but it’s now she realizes that not talking to him, not being emotionally open and honest is hurting him more. If she doesn’t tell him, if they don’t talk about this, she might actually lose him. 

She can’t lose someone she loves. Not again.

But admitting that out loud to Ben—that her feelings run deeper than she thought they ever did—is also something she can't do. 

(or maybe she just  _ thinks _ she can't)

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Devi snaps.

“Yes, you are,” Ben insists. 

Devi shakes her head. “I’m not.”

“You are, and I’m not letting you do this anymo—”

(she’s  _ not _ leaving him behind, and even the implication she is stings, so she puts a stop to it. impulsively, as always)

The words are practically punched out of her. “I’m in love with you!”

Devi can't quite believe she's said that, and from the look on Ben's face, he can't either. He freezes, eyes flickering over her, as if he is looking. Looking for her to take back her words. His mouth opens and closes, and Devi cannot breathe as she waits for him to say something. To say  _ anything. _

He finally speaks, his voice coming out impossibly quiet. “What?”

Now that the words are out, Devi knows she can’t take them back, but more surprisingly, she doesn’t want to. So instead, she repeats them. “I’m in love with you.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, he just keeps staring at her, and she takes this as permission to continue.

“God, Ben,” she breathes, “I—I love everything about you.” She takes a deep, shuddery breath. “You have such a big heart—like that time you dropped off my stuff after Malibu, and I wanted to kiss you then, like a stupid amount—and I love it more than anything.” She brushes her hair out of her face, then twists her hands together anxiously. “And—and I love how you always make me laugh, like that time we got caught in the rain at the park under that tree and, god, I just wanted to kiss you so badly.” She steps in closer to him—and saying all of this, finally, finally out loud, makes her feel a little bolder, a little braver—and she takes his hands. “I love how you always challenge me and compete with me—like when we danced together at winter formal and I wanted to kiss you then too—and make me better. And—” She stops talking, when she sees how wide Ben’s eyes are, and lets her hands fall away from his. “Sorry,” she says, shaking her head and taking a few steps back. “I’ve—said too much.”

Ben’s expression is completely earnest, and he steps close to her again. “And what Devi?”

And, fuck when he looks at her like that, with his cerulean blue eyes, she can’t keep anything from him, so she resumes her rambling. “I—I love that I can talk to you about anything, like when we ditched that party and you braided my hair and you just let me talk about my dad, and god, Ben, I even wanted to kiss you then.”  She swallows the lump forming in her throat. “And we have so much fun together—like when I made us watch that terrible romance movie and those two characters kissed on screen and more than anything I wanted you to kiss me, more than anything I wanted to kiss you—some of my happiest moments are so easily when we’re together,  no matter how much you annoy me .” She clears her throat. “I—I know I don’t deserve you, because you deserve everything, but I promise you, I love you with all of me.”

Ben stares at her silently, mouth agape.

(he doesn’t say anything)

Devi feels her heart shatter in her chest. She’s really done it now, she’s gone and opened her stupid, stupid mouth, and she’s lost another person she knows, with absolute certainty, that she loves. She’s lost Ben for good. She’s lost her constant.

“Fuck,” she curses, beginning to back away. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’ve ruined everything.”

She turns away from him, preparing to run, she’ll have to try and build a life for herself without Ben in it. It’ll be hard, really, really hard, but she’ll have to do it. She’ll have to make it work.

(how? where does she even start, without him?)

She steps away from him, but then she feels his hand catch her elbow. “Wait,” Ben says, prompting her to stop again.

She turns around to face him, finding his eyes—blue like starfire—boring into her own. Ben lets go of her elbow to bashfully rub the back of his neck. “Did you really want to kiss me all those times?”

Something in Devi snaps, including her temper. She stomps her foot like a petulant child. “Well, if you’d actually fucking listened to me, you’d know the answer to that, Ben!”

But before she can chew him out further, before she can yell at him anymore, Ben’s leaning forward, and reaching for her, and angling his head and—oh, he’s kissing her. 

(finally, once again, kissing her)

His fingers tremble—slightly, of course, but noticeably so—where they cup her jaw as he parts his lips against her mouth. At first it feels like he is shaking, which makes her tremble, but only then does she realize they are shaking together. She reaches out to steady herself against him, curling a hand around his neck, thumb brushing his jaw.

Ben touches her in exactly three places, his two hands cupping her jaw and his mouth pressed against hers. But as he continues kissing her, he relaxes into it, relaxes into her, and pulls her closer, until she’s pressed flush against him. Standing this close, she can feel the beat of his heart, reverberating in her chest, in tandem with her own.

As she begins to kiss him back, her hands slide around his waist, resting here. Her nails scrape against the fabric of his clothing slightly as he kisses her a little harder, the passion there, but restrained like the ocean restrains the waves. Even though right now his kisses are gentle and sweet and impossibly slow, it speaks to the future, and the promise of a time where all of that passion comes flooding out like a tsunami.

Devi’s never been kissed with this much restraint, this languidly, this softly, but right now it’s the only way she ever wants to be kissed. His thumb smooths underneath her eye—in a repetitive soothing motion that’s gentle as the kiss of a butterfly’s wing—and her eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

One of his hands moves from cupping her jaw to press between her shoulder blades and it is so, so warm. Even as she feels the wind blow against them, Devi’s not at all cold because she’s here, in his arms, the warmest, safest place she’s ever known. Even so, she uses the chill as an excuse to press even closer to him, tightening her arms around his waist.

Eventually—and far too soon, if Devi’s being honest—Ben pulls away from her, but he doesn’t go far, continuing to cup her face in his hands and tipping forward to press his forehead against hers. She can’t quite open her eyes, not yet, so she doesn’t, instead, she just stands—forehead pressed against his, so close their noses are brushing—and breathes.

When she finally opens her eyes, the way Ben looks at her—with a thousand more shades of meaning in his eyes than after Malibu—steals the breath from her lungs more than his kiss.

(devi knows her name means goddess, but she’s never quite felt that it suits her. at least, not until now. never has anyone ever looked at her with such reverence, such awe, such worship. they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and she agrees, she’s never felt quite as beautiful as she does now, quite as beautiful as she does when ben looks at her. when ben looks at her she feels divine. she feels celestial)

“For the record,” Ben murmurs, thumb stroking her cheek. “I was listening, Devi, and I love you too.”

She can’t quite believe it. She can’t quite believe that he loves her, that her feelings are reciprocated, it doesn’t feel real. So, she has to ask.

“You love me?”

Ben nods his head. “I do.” He tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Like a stupid amount.”

“A stupid amount,” she repeats, slightly dumb, head still spinning from his kisses.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. He brushes his thumb under her eye again, and it helps her breathe, and she laughs. 

Devi smirks. “I always knew you were obsessed with me, Gross.”

Ben doesn’t dignify that with a verbal response, he just huffs a laugh, before ducking his head to kiss her once more.

It’s chaste, and he pulls back a second later, before she can kiss back, or deepen it, but then only seconds later he’s kissing her again, pressing his mouth against hers a little harder, just a second longer, lingering. 

She just can’t quite shake her confusion when he quickly pulls away once more, before she can even part her mouth under his. The next time when he leans in, likely to press a third kiss to her lips, Devi pulls back a little, stopping him. “What are you doing?” she asks.

Ben snorts, as if it’s perfectly obvious. “Kissing you, obviously.”

Devi rolls her eyes and playfully shoves at his chest. “I know that, you dummy, I mean, what are you  _ doing _ ?”

Ben smirks, but his eyes are still shining with an unmistakable fondness. “I’m making up for missed opportunities, David.”

He leans in to kiss her again, this time a little bit longer. He sweeps his tongue across the seam of her lips, and her knees buckle a little, a bit pathetically, really, but she can’t care, especially when he pulls her closer. She thinks she understands what he means now.

“Oh,” Devi breathes when he pulls back. She can’t hold back a laugh at how corny the notion is, but then Ben muffles her laughter by kissing her once more. It’s much longer this time, enough for her to melt into him, the way ice cream melts in the summer sun. She clutches him tight, feeling a bit faint, as he holds her close, her heart racing in her chest. 

This time when he pulls back, Devi isn’t at all surprised when he swoops down to kiss her once more only seconds later. This kiss is the longest of them all, and Devi sighs with blissful contentment into his mouth as the world around her once again falls away.

He doesn’t pull away nearly as quickly this time, kissing her over and over again, and she can’t bear to let him go either, stepping impossibly closer to him, biting back a moan when his hand moves from her jaw to sweep down her back, encouraging her body to arch into his. 

Eventually Ben pulls back, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “There. Five times you wanted to kiss me, made up by five times I kissed you.”

“So you wanted to kiss me like that, right now?” Devi rolls her eyes fondly and punches him in the shoulder. “You’re such a sap.”

Ben’s mouth drops open in mock outrage. “Excuse me, I’m the sap? You’re the one who just professed your undying love for me.”

Devi scoffs. “I did not say undying!”

Ben taps his chin. “I don’t know,” he smirks. “It seemed pretty intense to me.”

“Fine, just how many times have you wanted to kiss me, Gross?”

“That’s quite a bold assumption, David.”

She scowls. “Ben, you’re being a dick.”

“Yeah, but you fell in love with me, so you like it,” he sing-songs. 

She leans forward to press her lips against him, silencing him. She pulls away, just barely, with a smirk. “I actually like you best when you’re not talking.”

“I see how this is gonna be,” he murmurs, against her mouth. “You’re just going to kiss me to shut me up, aren’t you?” 

“Well, if it gets you to stop talking for once in your life,” she laughs. “Of course.” 

“I’m getting the strangest feeling you’re laughing  _ at _ me.” 

“Well, it’ll be nothing compared to when I hear how many times you wanted to kiss me.” 

Ben ducks his head flushing slightly. “Devi,” he whines. 

“Tell me, dummy,” she goads. 

Ben sighs, leaning down to press his lips to her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, littering kisses across her face. “Fine, I wanted to kiss you constantly. Constantly since Malibu and—” He scratches the back of his neck. “Quite a few times before then, too, actually.”

Devi feels emboldened by his words. “Constantly, huh?”

She tugs him impossibly closer, revelling in the sound of his breath hitching, the way his eyes flash bright, bright blue. She smirks. “I think I can make up for that.

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if you enjoyed this fic and come talk to us about the show! you can find us on tumblr:  
>    
> [leila](https://montygreen.tumblr.com)  
> [bhargavi](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


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